The Tale of Jonacin Options

[Wolfie]

Ok, so this is the story of my RP character, Jonacin

The Tale of Jonacin

Jonacin was born in Sentinel, Hammerfell. His father was a Sword Singer of above average power, and his mother was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. He was born after they had been married for several years, and was their first son. Even when in the cradle, his parents knew he would grow to be a powerful Ansei, for he would frequently form a Shehai as he played. The sword was always the same, a long katana with stylized wreaths of flame curling up the blade. He was always a very serious child, even as a baby he rarely laughed or cried. At the age of three, instead of playing with other children, he spent a lot of his time reading The Book of Circles, encouraged by his parents to learn all he could from it. As time passed, his skills became more pronounced, and he frequently formed a true Shehai. He entered the local Hall of the Virtues of War at the early age of 7, and quickly rose to the top of his class, even though all of his fellow students were several years older than him.

At the age of 12, he first formed a true Shehai in battle conditions. He was in a sparring contest with one of his classmates, and his blade snapped. Rather than stop the fight to get a new one, he instinctively concentrated and formed the Shehai. Within seconds after doing so, the fight was over, his opponents blade cut in half and the tip of the Shehai resting against his jugular. The instructors were all amazed at this feat, as were his fellow students. He was judged worthy to claim the rank of Master Ansei, a Sword Saint, despite his young age.


An Ansei is a person who can call up a Shehai in any form
A Shehai is an indestructable spirit sword that can cut through pretty much anything

[Wolfie]

Time for another update. This one is different than the others, and it's my first time writing this type of thing, so i'm not sure if i did i very well, but here goes:

It was three weeks since Jonacin had killed Davik in the duel. Since then, many of the other people in the Hall had treated him with a mix of awe and respect. However, he refused to fall into the trap of arrogance and pride that Davik had succumbed to. He merely continued his studies and training, improving his skills and control as best he could. The wound in his chest had been deeper than he originally realized, and he now had a long scar where the wound had been, despite the healing magic used.

He was also spending far more time at the Hall than he used to, because at the Hall he had to focus all his attention on the task at hand. His father had recently been killed in a fight with a group of trolls that had attacked him when he was out hunting, and at the Hall he could lose himself in his studies and not think about what had happened. His mother was distraught, and he knew that she would take a long time to get over the loss, if she ever did. When he returned that night, he was greeted by a horrific scene. His mother lay dead on her bed, a knife plunged into her heart by her own hand. She left a note, saying she was sorry but she couldn’t go on living without her beloved husband. It was then that Jonacin broke down in tears.

He couldn’t remember much that happened after that. He knew that at some point, he had staggered out into the street, tears still streaming down his face. Next thing he knew, it was morning, and he was lying in one of the beds at the Hall usually reserved for those with serious injuries sustained while training with proper weapons and not blunt training ones. One of the instructors sat by the bed, a look of deep concern in his eyes. He asked how he felt. This comment brought memories of the night before back, and Jonacin broke down in tears again.